March 28, 2024

Heading for the Hills

Rehoboth Ramblings

Posted

I keep reading about people in big cities leaving for the countryside over these past few months. New Yorkers who fled in droves this spring for the Berkshires and the Catskills have taken the phrase “head for the hills” literally. Can’t blame them, as long as they weren’t bringing the virus with them. This behavior is neither new nor surprising. People (that is, well-off people) have fled cities during epidemics and plagues, going back at least as far as ancient Rome. People might not have known about germs but they sure understood that densely populated cities helped spread disease.

Some contemporary city residents went to second homes, but a surprising number are looking to move away permanently from the city, or at least as far as the suburbs. When we moved here in the summer of 1978, I never really thought, “This would be a better place to live during a pandemic.” We were just looking for a single-family home not too far from Providence, and the scenic countryside of Rehoboth seemed like a pleasant choice. Also, commuting west in the morning and east in the evening meant not having to drive with the sun in your eyes at various times of the year, a small but significant point.

While many find living in the city exciting, I dislike big cities because all the noise and congestion make me feel overwhelmed, even though I enjoy their attractions (which is to say, it’s a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there). A quiet neighborhood is of great importance to me. At the time of our move from Providence, the woman in the apartment below us was fond of throwing loud parties, so we were glad to get away from that. Rehoboth has mostly, though not always, filled the bill for peace and tranquility for all these years. I love all the summer greenery too, though I realize that a lot of that is just invasive weeds. It beats the bleak, bare winter months.

Still, I find these strange times we are living in to be full of irony. Wasn’t it just a short while ago we were hearing about all these retired people who wanted to sell the family home in the suburbs and move to the city for all it had to offer? Well, so much for that. As many have noted, right now what used to make cities exciting is not available, or not available as it was before, to its residents – restaurants, theaters, sports and concert venues, museums and so forth. And now that the very idea of taking public transportation is nerve-wracking, more people are driving to work again. Where this will all go in the long run is anyone’s guess.

The most ironic thing about the pandemic is how everything that was considered good for us is now problematic: getting together with people, traveling far and wide, going to those restaurants, theaters, museums, and games. Most of all, everyone agreed that it was bad for people, especially older people, to be alone and yet, here we are. Speaking of opposites, testing positive is a phrase with definite negative connotations now. One thing about our current situation is that it’s made us realize just how much of our lives revolves around in-person human contact. We’ve had lots of time to dwell on this thought too.

Apparently bird-watching has become very popular recently. I’m listening to a wren outside the window at the moment. These little birds seem to keep up the chatter from dawn to dusk; you’d think they’d be exhausted by evening. I am more of a bird appreciator than watcher. I’m not very good at identifying them, though I can pick out the obvious birds – robins, cardinals, blue jays, red-winged blackbirds, along with that family of crows. What we call birdsong is often one bird telling a rival “get off my branch!”  But it all sounds cheerful to human listeners. I’d rather listen to birds squabble than humans argue.

A great white egret was a rare visitor to the pond earlier in June. Though I usually associate these beautiful birds with Florida, they have a wide range. Not sure if it was chased off by the great blue heron, a more frequent visitor. Tiny hummingbirds visit the bird feeder from May to around Labor Day. I always hate to see them go. From the heron to the little hummers, all feathered creatures great and small enliven the summer scene and brighten these troubled times.

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